i saw saint mary in starbucks i saw saint mary in starbucks-- she was leaned over the counter-- perched on a wooden stool legs crossed beneath her blue robe-- she looked up out the big front windows it was a cloudy october afternoon full of computer screen glow-- at the table next to her a woman in a bright red dress was interviewing to do marketing for a start-up & on her other side was of course-- me scrolling on my phone & pretending not to notice the virgin mary sitting next to me-- she sipped her pumpkin spice latte-- stuck her finger in the whipped topping & licked off the fluffy cream & drizzled caramel syrup-- resting her head in her hand, she scrolled through her phone-- our saints have recently gone digital after some encouragement from the higher ups jesus said it would be good for them to get more in touch with the people again-- she now receives prayers by text message vibrate vibrate vibrate their words blurring across her screen she openned each prayer one by one by one & the phone just kept vibrating she set it down on the counter & it continued to vibrate vibrate vibrate i took out a pen from my backpack & scribbled on the back of a brown paper napkin "Hail Mary full of grace..." i slide it to her shyly-- she peered up at me without a word & smiled like the statue we have of her sitting in the Nativity-- picking up the note she grinned wider & mouthed "Thank you" she picked her phone off the counter & opened tinder to amuse herself between answering prayers over the rim of my coffee i eyed her swiping right on some girls from Bryn Mawr college-- hair long & wearing instagram filters-- i opened my own tinder to see if i could find her profile & there she was-- saint Mary-- the same image as on the prayer card in my wallet on the way home i wondered if she had remembered me or anything i had prayed for or if she just got to know human in brief snippets of their pleas-- their wants-- their desires-- i wondered if sometimes she would just like to hear a message-- a simple hello & a smiley-face emoji of some sort so that she knows that we don't just want her for the influence of her son-- i pulled over on the side of the road opened my own phone & texted my mom to tell her that i love her because i don't tell anyone that enough-- i sip the last of my black coffee & i pray to saint Mary & tell her that i'm sorry that her phone is full of so many prayers & that i'm sorry they never stop coming even when half the world sleeps-- my phone vibrated & an unknown number had sent me a little star emoji i sent her back "Hail Mary full of grace..."
Uncategorized
10/08
open the neon lights in my veins sing "open"-- linger in me like a doorway-- like a round coffee shop table-- i want you to rest your glass of water on my forehead without a coaster-- leave a water ring halo-- i'll be your neon light saint-- cross your legs beneath me like your mother taught you when you first haphazardly wore a dress & felt a gust of wind ring your knees like church bells-- it's early in the night & we've yet to sink-- let's push this bed off the dock-- swim under the covers where we'll be safe grow barnacles on our thighs-- let's be quiet like sea urchins & no one will find us or wake us from this kind of sleep-- this kind of drowning in each other's bodies-- there is so much of us-- descend the the sand-bottom where i keep my sunken ships-- the salt water of my blood eating away at the wood-- my oceans have sharks & smug grinning eels-- my oceans have pillows floating above like clouds-- what do you think of my body? is it something you'd like to drop into-- throw the anchor off the side of the bed let's stay here-- tell the sun to be patient with us-- my body is the supermarket that stays open through the night-- i lay ajar for all the shopping cart wheel spirits at four a.m. who buy pumpkins to carve themselves into-- i have become my own night light-- neon glowing through all my veins-- tossing shadows across my white ceiling-- the water on the floor of my bed room is cold-- it's autumn now & the ocean crosses her legs-- she pulls on stockings & ties up her hair in a messy bun-- when you need me i'll be waiting across the street in the window of the little pizza shop i'll be neon-- i'll be open
10/07
i lost the sun down the drain this faucet-running morning i dropped the sun down the drain-- a beacon of light protruded from the sink & i reached my hands inside desperately to grab at it-- i felt warmth & the tips of my fingers brushed her fuzzy surface-- for those of you who didn't know the sun feels a lot like an over-ripe peach i thought to myself oh what oh what will everyone think of me when i tell them i lost the sun-- all the while the song-birds outside my window gossiped about the stupid-girl who thought she could hold a star without trembling-- i say but i'm a boy- & they laugh & laugh & i ask them if any of them has a voice to trade-- that i would be willing to barter with the sun once i dislodged it they whispered me down the alley-- up the street through everyone's feathers-- through the piles of leaves collecting in the gutters they swallowed their voices whole & told me no--no-- no bird songs here-- little girl keep your voice in your mouth where it belongs-- i closed the blinds which didn't do much seeing as the sun wasn't in the sky but at least the window muffled the chatter of birds i turned on the flashlight of my iPhone & flashed it in the face of the star in my sink i took a deep breath & got on all fours-- it's amazing the spaces you can fit in when you believe in the smallness of your body-- i crawled in & around me the drain expanded-- the walls-- the aqueducts-- great stone arches encircling me as i learned how to fall the sun caught me-- her arms open her body soft & blushing-- i told her but i'm a boy & she laughed & fed me handfuls of light & cooed i know i know i know
10/06
where do phones go when they die? what kind of god makes a body measured in percentages of breath-- i know that you will wake up again but i would feel better to know where you go-- we pretend are iPhones aren't are most intimate lovers-- inside my pocket i grip her body in my right hand-- cold body-- smooth body-- gentle body-- mirror mirror lover what do you see me in today? your eyes filter me-- fill me claredon lark--slumber--valencia ink well-- moon-- how many colors do you see in me-- oh & if i could only see them in myself-- i guess it's the impermanence of your small deaths that makes me contemplate my own-- you wake up again-- you remember me-- even if only faintly maybe in the darkness behind your screen you listened to me voice echoing through a night free of stars-- maybe you hear me say i love i love you into your receiver-- you feel your body become one of those phones with the long curly chords i twirl my finger around you & you pretend that you are the lover on the other line-- you tell me to lay on my back with you & we both look up at an empty sky-- maybe you wonder if you'll ever wake up-- if this sleep will be eternal-- & maybe you would hang my photographs up around your body-- every where you would turn would be my voice-- an echo echo echo of my hand around your body & just like that you taste air-- taste electricity spicy like red hot sauce dripped onto your tongue-- you blink you blink hello again
10/05
Apatosaurus body i sympathize with the Apatosaurus-- our bodies are so much to keep track of-- 70ft long & so many ferns to eat to stay alive-- my mouth hurts from chewing-- i don't know how i fit in my bedroom with my ribs so cavernous-- i pull the blinds shut on my windows so no one can see me fossilize-- i stand by the air conditioner in my purple boxers-- shirt off-- i feel my body grow into a jungle & then there i am-- i'm standing & all anyone can see are my bones & my father pints to my skull & tells me that the Apatosaurus was a gigantic herbivore-- that his steps were made of thunder & the people at the museum don't think to ask why the Apatosaurus is wearing purple boxers-- they nod & don't read the little plaque beneath me that reads his body was so much in my room i turn around & knock a pile of books off my desk with my long tail-- i keep the blinds shut to have a break from the museum goers pointing at my bones-- i'm taking them off femur by rib by pelvis-- reburying them in the backyard for someone to discover the skeleton of the mighty Apatosaurus whose body was too big to fit in his bedroom-- break windows with your foot steps-- stand naked & heavy with bones-- here take my rib-- plant a tree with it-- if you're patient & you wait it might just grow into an orchid-- quiet & tired of being so so much
10/04
What does god do with all the green in October? in his orange sweater & red canvas shoes God walks down main street -- the body of a little boy-- his skin is cold-- it's october-- the kind of cold that's lonely but still empty of winter-- he fills his jean pockets with green-- tree by tree by tree-- pulling the green off the leaves by the handful-- he tells the oak to hush as she weeps for virescence of her children-- she watches them rust-- bleed reds & drop brown on the sidewalk he runs his hand over her trunk & tells her that all our children must someday jump & fall on the pavement-- the wind moans & rips leaf after leaf from her hands-- he tells the earth to be quiet-- to be still-- to listen to a night without emeralds he says there is a certain beauty to dying in so many different colors & she doesn't believe him-- he keeps walks-- all full of green & he walks past the shop fronts where each building has spent decades falling in love with each other-- only to speak to each other in the murmur of porch lights & in the shadows of Gods who stroll this time in october-- he's headed down to stream-- dark-- face covered by the torsos of the white ash & red oaks-- their knees genuflecting in the shallow water-- there he empties himself of green-- green laughing & crying in the gossip of the water-- green full of mouths & kissing & sweat on our bodies-- green that remembered us knew us-- believed in us-- oh green unclasping hands-- green letting go-- floating belly up to another year-- God lit a cigarette-- the spark of his lighter bright against the black water-- he breathed a storm cloud from his lips & the store fronts looked at each other wide-eyed & in love it's october
10/03
orchard i filled my pockets with peach pits-- pushed them into the warm asphalt with my thumb-- yes this is time square this is where i will start build an orchard & you will tell me there's nothing to be done with all this light-- that the city eats peaches all through the night & i'll laugh & tell you that it eats apples-- only the really red kind-- horn will honk early the next morning when the first of the trees takes hold in the middle of the cross walk & tourists will take pictures & think that it's an installation art project-- a cabby will lean out the window to curse the thin trunk of the first brave peach tree-- she will grow wild from the blaring of the lights-- she will learn to swallow neon sun-- her fruit will grow rounder than the moon & the people will gather beneath her to stop-- to stop & her roots will begin to crack the sidewalk & a young boy with a blue backpack will be the first to eat one of her fruit-- each peach the color of the sunset wrapped around the statue of liberty's waist-- he tastes dusk-- sweet, musty, & slightly bitter he knows what to do with the seed-- pressed into the street-- the orchard began as a phenomenon of eating-- of hunger for fruit-- the people left their cars in the streets to watch the peach trees grow-- two burst through the McDonalds bright golden arches-- another smashed the windows of the M&M factory & all the while the people began to notice that the peach trees were consuming all the was left of the sound of the city at night-- fruit swelled with the blare of a bent bent trumpet wailing from the subway underground where the peach tree roots entangled around the lexington ave express-- EXPECT DELAYS the voice over the loud speaker repeat & repeats & repeats i'll walk out from my hotel & fill my backpack with peaches-- if any are bruised i'll just eat them right then-- sitting on a bench with a city full of people taking in the orchard we all planted i'll tell them i'm taking it with me when i go & even the cab drivers will beg me to let them stay-- when the world is dark-- & i mean all the way dark-- & the city finally sleeps after 100 years of light i will walk out again-- push the trees back into the street-- put the peach pits back into my pocket-- take the next bus from port authority back to kutztown & the city will wake up with the taste of dusk in her mouth--
10/03
1000 Sundays let's sleep 1000 sundays & wake up at the bottom of the snow-covered lake. you make me believe in the stillness of my own body. i went ice-skating on love & fell in--
10/02
what do our phones do while we sleep? i lay down with her-- electronic mother her soft glow screen whispering shadows into the darkness of my room-- she kisses my forehead full of pixels-- hums with the white charger chord dangling from her mouth like an unlit cigarette i tell her that we should get up early tomorrow i tell her wake me up at six am & again at six fifteen & again at seven-- she laughs because she knows i won't get up till seven-- i never get up till seven & i hold her warm body in my hands until my fingers loosen & i fall asleep-- alone there she watches me-- my chest rise & fall-- she listens to foot steps upstairs in the room above me-- she hear's a muffled laugh & it makes her feel lonely to live the life of an iPhone-- she imagines staying up late into the night in the body of a human-- she wishes i would take her dancing-- wrap my arms around her waist & tilt her like one of those salsa dancers-- she googles pictures of dresses & imagines a body to wear them on-- she scrolls monotonously & night is always so long-- she hears stifled sirens wailing red through town & she wants to run with them-- she wants to shout a body of flashing lights she wants to be louder & the sirens fade & she is alone she wants to get closer to me-- she likes to think that in another life we could have been lesbian lovers-- i've told her i'm a boy but she always says that's not the point & i understand the sentiment-- she opens up my messages & scrolls through my messages to you-- she's jealous, but also enamored of us-- she bites her lip-- reads under her breath-- i love u i love u i love yew goodnight sweet dreams <3 <3 <3 she keeps emojis under her tongue-- they taste like cherry throat lozenges-- bulbous hearts & blue winged butterflies & that smiley face that's also winking-- we use that one a lot-- she wants to write to you-- tell you that she's glad that i'm in love with someone who knows how to send love in fistfuls of imessages-- she peruses the messages between my mom & me too-- though mostly just to be nosy-- when she's not wishing she was my lover she's wishing she was my mom-- she says to me sometimes that she want to love all the parts of me-- that she does love all the parts of me & i click the button on the top right of her head & she goes dark-- she drove us home last night & i was nearly asleep-- alone there watching me sleep she imagines letting me sit shotgun-- recline my seat & fall asleep while she wove us under each stoplight-- there alone she watches me sleep-- she sighs silently & opens Facebook again to scroll scroll scroll
10/01
our god of Deisher Lane when i was eleven i could bike the circumference of the earth-- tennis balls in my pockets-- started top the hill on Deisher Lane-- road the momentum all the way to Turkey Hill where we stopped & you kissed me with cold slushie lips-- let's turn blue; it's october now after all i paper-clipped Pokemon cards to my spokes-- revered the engine inside a dream-- plucked leaves off holly bushes-- the sidewalk contorted until it turned to a gravel trail to drive through all the world's forests-- rubber trees & taiga & fern-- jaguars chased the smack smack smack of my playing card motor & oh the edge of the world was across the concrete bridge-- the one that over looked 222-- & the cars rushed beneath us like sea monsters from 16th century cartography-- this is the new world-- this is the edge we'd fallen off of-- our ships are made of driftwood & egg cartons-- the salt water wind kicked king-sized Reese-cup wrappers & Lays chip bags into the air-- they float like jelly fish-- undulating between the wheels of travelers who are also on a route of constant circumnavigation-- on the smug brick face of the high school my father & i played wall ball-- our bikes entangled beneath a chestnut tree-- pounding pounding on the stone-- pounding on the back step of heaven to ask god to keep us company in our town as wide as the world-- when you're eleven & your bike is unbound by gravity & sometimes accidentally takes flight-- i found myself riding the arched shoulders of the great wall of china-- pedaling beneath the Eiffel tower-- biking on the surface of the ocean & never sinking-- oh god i bike on water-- the creek by my house is filled with holy water-- i go alone sometimes-- tennis ball in my fist & it gets colder & it gets november & the world uses a brown belt to hold up it's dress pants-- i stand & with mismatched gloves i hurl the tennis balls-- neon planets at the brick-- crack-smack-thump at the front door of heaven to throw until the sunset blushes at my persistence-- god is a quiet god who takes the bounce out of tennis balls & flattens tires-- when i was eleven the world was only as high as the hill on Deisher Lane-- shifting into a high gear to climb-- i gained speed on trexler ave-- felt the bike leave the ground-- engine smacking-- it was god to lifted me & laid my blue bike down on the porch when i got home
Robin Gow 